#quail eggs are good

[junhoontrash]

skewers

[meii-jasmine]

We stan Filipino Miku! 🇵🇭

She has her own Mikutoda tricycle, eating kwek kwek before the rush hour

[kedreeva]

I have finally gotten to the point where I feel comfortable selling nice hatching eggs from my Celadons. The eggs have got nice color, they're a good size, the birds are getting bigger and are hatching in good health. I'm seeing minor aggression once in a while, but I've been proactive in quickly removing those birds from existence, and it's worlds better than it was at the start, where I couldn't house males together at all.

These are the second group of eggs that have gone for $15/doz, and the last hatching eggs of this year I think. If the birds from fall hatch lay this nice or nicer, I'll be asking $20/doz in the spring, and I honestly think they'll be worth it!

[necromancy-savant]

I just had hot pot for the first time and I think I ate so much my body might be shutting down

[inkmaze]

made some mayak(marinated) eggs ages back and loved em. finally recently tried it again w quail eggs since I found some at an asian supermarket and ough. kind of obsessed. so bite sized. good meal prep. tasty as hell obviously. annoying to peel a million tiny eggs but thats basically the only downside imo. oughh

[cocolacola]

me posting only fandom stuff and reblogs for one day: my poor fans. they dont even know my lore

[stinkrascal]

the videos on tiktok where people feed their cats those fancy wet foods with the quail eggs and the probiotics and the pumpkin powder and the little dried fish and the bone broth and the dried blood powders are so addicting. like dude why does this cat eat better than i do

[helenofblackthorns]

Sophie getting dressed up and leaving the Institute to meet with Gideon only to tell him she can't see him 😭 Sophie you're breaking his heart he has a picnic basket and everything

[bcbparty]

this is zelf

this is so real and never leaves me

[nethermite]

he wants quails😭😭

[kedreeva]

There are good things in the world still

Today, I had dinner with my partner's family, and saw their Family Friend I hadn't seen in a while. I got to eat good food, drink good drink, and tell and hear stories all night.

Today, I found an absolutely monstrous egg from my quail. 27 grams!! Chicken eggs generally weigh between 40 and 70 grams. Quail eggs generally weigh between 10 and 20 grams, with 14 being a pretty good size.

Today, I got tickets to go see The Fifth Element on the big screen at the local Cinema on Wednesday. To say I am stoked is a vast understatement. I've watched this movie more times than I can count, and seen it once on the big screen when my friends rented one of the mini theaters at the cinema, to play a few movies for someone's birthday.

There are good things left in the world, and this is your invitation to reblog this and share yours, or check the notes if you need a reminder. One day at a time.

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 8

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw.

one. two. three. four. five. six. seven.

Eight. 八

After that encounter in the screening room, you are extra vigilant as you go about your days, to not get caught in a room alone with Donaka Mark. It's not that you think he will hurt you...just that you don't think you would have the strength to resist him again. But a few days later the staff is in a flurry getting ready for a dinner party to entertain some of Mr. Mark's clients and friends, and you don't have time to think about it at all.

Later, you have been conscripted to help in the kitchen. You dare ask the cook, Mrs. Wong, what tou zai yee means. She is busy prepping food, so she impatiently answers, “Rabbit. Little cute rabbit. Wash these.” She shoves a bushel of bok choy at you, and you get to work. Maybe you defy Donaka Mark on the reg, but Mrs. Wong? You aren’t crazy. 

You help the kitchen staff with serving for the party. The guests are all well heeled and glamorous, which is to be expected. But there is one woman who clearly has her sights set on Mark, laughing at his jokes and finding any and every reason to touch him, placing her manicured hand bedecked in a ruby the size of a quail's egg on his arm--who you cannot help but feel utterly spiteful towards. You keep your eyes down, praying Mr. Mark won't see it on your face.

Donaka enjoys the bustle of the party, his staff scurrying around like minions to wait on him and his guests. It makes him feel powerful, but the greatest satisfaction comes from watching you, watching her fawn over him.

She is absolutely gorgeous, undoubtedly rich, and you feel...stupid, and small as a little mouse. Donaka seems to be enjoying her attentions, and you wonder if she will stay, after all the other guests have gone. Of course he would seek the company of a woman more his equal. All you could ever be to him is a plaything to pass the time in between more glamorous assignations.

Donaka eats it up as the beautiful woman continues to touch his arm, continues to laugh and throw herself at him, clearly desperate to be close to him. His eyes dart over to where you are standing on the other side of the room, watching him between offering drinks to his guests on a tray. He decides to teach you a lesson.

You know its ridiculous, but you are green with envy, as Donaka ducks to say something in her ear, and the two of them disappear from the room. Going to the garden, maybe, or his office. Or even...his bedroom. The thought of it makes you physically ill...and knowing that you’ll have to change the sheets, tomorrow...Goddammit. You have to leave the room to compose yourself, finding that you are trying not to cry.

Donaka walks out of the room, his hand holding onto the woman’s slender arm, her laughing and giggling at his side. He leads her down the hall, not paying attention to the way she keeps talking, her hand touching his arm, her body practically pressed against his. You never see where they go. You stay in the kitchen the rest of the night, helping to clean up the mess.

It's late when everyone has finally left. You are the last one in the living room, tidying everything, cleaning up some broken glass hiding under a chair from one of the guests.

Donaka silently joins you, standing in the doorway of the sitting room when the guests are all finally gone, watching you pick up glass from a broken champagne flute, admiring your skirt riding up your thighs as you crawl on the floor. When you finally stand you gasp to find his towering dark figure there. You’d thought that he'd retired, possibly with that beautiful woman he'd had on his arm. The thought of her makes you stew inside all over again.

“You did a good job tonight,” he says, his voice low as he steps into the room.

"Thank you, sir. I think...your party was a success." Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves immensely at his expense.

Donaka hums softly at your words, closing the space between the two of you until he’s towering over you. “Mmm, yes,” he says. “Everyone had a good time. Especially me.”

The bastard just can’t restrain himself from rubbing it in. 

You exhale through your nose, practically squirming with the effort to remain professional. "I'm glad, sir." He certainly enjoyed himself with that woman. Your hand clenches involuntarily–on the broken glass you’d been cradling so carefully before. You yelp at the pain, the shard stuck in your palm, blood bright as cinnabar welling forth. "Shit," you curse, dashing for the kitchen before you can drip on his expensive silk rugs.

The kitchen is deserted as you go to the sink. The razor-sharp shard is really embedded in the meat of your palm, and you feel light headed just looking at it. You fucking little idiot, you admonish yourself. Well, you hope Donaka enjoys the reaction he got out of you. You wish you were better at shutting down your emotions. It’s a skill you could really use about now. Tears well in your eyes, and your injury is only half to blame. 

“Let me see.” His deep voice comes from somewhere behind you, and you shake your head. His help is the last thing you want right now. 

“I’m fine, Sir,” you say through gritted teeth. “Please don’t bother yourself.” 

But then the solid line of his warmth is behind you, so close, and he reaches around your smaller form with those long arms, taking charge of your injured hand in his. He clicks his tongue at the sight of it. 

Your first instinct is to shy away, but he pins you against the cabinetry with a low, warning growl. “Be still,” he commands, and for once, you obey, every cell in your body aware of this man pressed against your back. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears, your breathing shallow, and not just because of his weight pressing into you. 

Maybe you will pass out. That would serve him right.

“If you’re squeamish, don’t look,” he instructs, and before you can say a thing he’s plucked the glass from your skin, and replaced it with a dish towel, holding pressure on your wound.  "You should be more careful."

You clench your jaw, biting down on your first, second, and third scathing replies. 

A good thirty seconds pass, before you’re able to offer the appropriate, “Yes, Sir.” 

For once, this meek reply does not please Donaka. 

He bends down to speak softly in your ear. “You think I fucked her?”

Furious, you struggle again, to absolutely no avail. His hips and muscular thighs brace you into the edge of the sink, his arms are around you and his hands are holding yours–you’re the one who’s fucked, and not in any nice way. 

“Answer me.” 

You’re pretty sure he can hear you grinding your teeth. 

“Yes,” you admit, sounding as small and miserable as you feel inside. 

“Why would you care, if all you do is run from me?”

Therein lies the million dollar question. You realize tears are rolling down your cheeks when you feel the moisture dripping from your chin. 

“Because I’m an idiot,” you answer, your throat suddenly raw. 

“I know you’re not stupid. Try again.” 

“You’re being cruel,” you protest, praying that somewhere, deep down, this man might possess a modicum of compassion for you. 

“I am seeking the truth, y/n. What more noble pursuit is there in life?”

You laugh, a ragged outburst of sound. You can’t tell if he’s being serious, or his usual sardonic self. Either way, it’s a spring trap set for you with big sharp teeth. 

“I think you pursue truth for the power in it, Mr. Mark. That’s hardly noble.”

You feel him chuckle behind you, more than hear it. How right you were. The security business paid well, but he made his first real fortune plying secrets gleaned from all his cameras watching the wealthy. Some of those secrets were worth more when kept,  and some, worth more sold. 

 “Touché. Fine. We’ll trade. I’ll tell you that I would sooner go to bed with a viper, than that woman tonight.” 

You are not proud of the way you relax in his hold, even if minutely, at hearing that unexpected confession.  “This is none of my business, Sir,” you try to evade.

“Nice try. Now you tell me why that information pleases you.”

“I need to bandage my hand.”

Goddammit if the first aid kit isn’t easily in reach for him. He doesn’t even have to let go of you, to take it down from the overhead cabinet and flip open the lid, carefully removing the towel to administer to your wound with an alcohol wipe and a bandage, all while still trapping you in the circle of his arms. “I’m still waiting,” he tells you, as he wraps your palm with gauze neatly. 

“I think you’ve done this before,” you deflect, floundering for anything else to talk about. 

“A few times.” 

“I guess it’s not a party until someone bleeds…” 

This earns you a huff of laughter. “You have no idea…” 

You’re not sure why his answer unsettles you. When he fastens the end of your gauze you feel a little like a mummy. This was probably overkill, but you were glad for the distraction. You fear the interim is over, when his big hand moves to hold the front of your throat, ever so lightly. It’s possessive, and titillating, and not half so off-putting as it should be. 

“Y/n?” 

“Sir.” 

“I want to hear you say it.” 

With the solid, scalding line of his body pressed against your back, you can feel his heartbeat drumming against your spine, and the bulge of his arousal against you too. It’s all so maddening that you think you might have slid to the floor on your weak knees, if not for him pinning you. You’re going to have an indent in your skin from the edge of the sink biting into your flesh. Your silence stretches on, your body trembling in his arms. You’re not sure you could form a word, even if you knew what to say. 

You have no idea how to quantify your feelings for Donaka Mark. He scares you and fascinates you. He’s so handsome it hurts, but even so, if that had been the sum total of your attraction you could have gotten over it. It’s the way he looks at you, speaks to you–challenges you. Your libido votes to climb him like a tree and fuck him, your higher brain functions insist it’s not worth the price of your soul. As much if not more than your body, this man craves your complete submission. You sense it like a coming storm.

“I’d prefer you to let go of me.”

Again, you feel him growl behind you more than hear it. 

Maybe it's the alcohol he consumed that evening, or the sight of the blood, the act of caring for you. His control is paper thin tonight, and he just can't stop himself from shifting his hold to your jaw, tilting your head up to him, and pressing his mouth to yours.

You always thought a kiss from Donaka Mark would be a soul-searing act of domination–something that bordered on pain. Brutal tongue and clashing teeth and those long fingers tangled in your hair–you can hardly believe it, when this powerful man is actually considerate of you, big hands that could snap your neck holding you with care, his plush lips and his clever tongue sliding against yours. He is not exactly gentle, releasing you only so that he can turn your body in his arms, pressing your front to his. He takes what he wants, and does not apologize for it 

Yet you also feel he is asking you a question with this kiss, and even though you have turned to jelly in his capable hands, your answer is still this: that you are a coward, and maybe a cynic too. 

You cannot believe that Donaka Mark could truly be so caring. It is the enticing glow of the angler fish’s lure, so pretty and soft–beyond lays a monster with teeth waiting to devour you. 

You’ve never wanted to chance it so badly in your life, but in the end self-preservation wins again. 

He actually lets you slide from his grasp, until the last part of you that is touching is your seeking mouths. You hold your hands behind your back, so that you do not reach out for him, the way you really want to.  

You draw back to look up at him, his pupils blown so wide his eyes are truly the jet black of a shark’s. This is the reality of your situation: he is the king of the reef–you are naught but a tasty little angelfish. You are not clever enough, fast enough, mean enough to play with the likes of this man. He would eat you alive. 

Wide eyed, it’s all you can do to shake your head, your words caught in your throat until you’ve backed away a few steps. “I’m sorry…I can’t.” Donaka watches you disbelievingly, as you flee him, yet again, on those quick little feet. 

With a fist clenched at his side, he decides this will be the last time. A seething storm roils within him, and you have no idea the beast you have unleashed in rejecting him, when Donaka Mark offered you tenderness over an iron fist. 

You are going to be sorry.

[tutumydear]

The sun fell on my desk in a way that made me smile this morning, highlighting my great grandfather’s pysanky - Ukranian Easter eggs

He had hundreds left in his studio when he passed. Anything from quail to emu. Mostly duck. We all chose a few to keep in his memory. You can see how I gravitated toward a specific design lol

When he wanted more room, he gave his eggs away. He never sold them. It wasn’t unusual for someone to be given a tour of his studio and then prompted to choose an egg. By the end, all his closest friends and family already had pieces of him in their homes.

I keep his eggs nearby as a reminder to make art for me. He didn’t worry about “good enough” or if a design “made sense”. He just made. And made and made.

What I make and what he made are very, very different, haha. But I’m encouraged by his late desire to surround himself with his own creations, and further, to share them.

Thank you for reminding me, Sun 💛

[miredball]

sydney and carmy established relationship headcanons:

carmy’s a pet name guy. he’s been weaned on pet names his whole life (‘bear’ ‘sugar’ one could argue ‘cousin’). he uses the typical ‘baby’ for syd, which she loves, but one morning she walks into the office and upon seeing her carmy murmurs a “hey honey” and she gets flashes of a kitchen with a window over the sink, an herb garden, something warm and expanding and joy joy joy

they get found out by the rest of the staff at family. well, it’s a series of family dinners. they start sitting next to each other, then carmy’s arm is on the back of her chair and syd’s rubbing his back after he chokes on some rapini. what confirms it for everyone though happens on a lull in the conversation so everyone hears it. sydney needs something from the kitchen and as she’s getting up, for the bit, carmy motions to scoop the last piece of marcus’ take on a pandan chiffon cake out of her plate. she turns to him with a quickness and a huge fake grin and says “carmen, I will literally fucking kill you” as she backs away, to which carmy laughs (laughing!? carmy?!). then he puts his own slice on her plate. richie and nat share a look and the noise at the table comes roaring back to life before carmy realizes it even left. shouldn’t spook those bears.

they move in together and both feel really good with sharing everyday life with someone else. they go to farmers markets and change the garbage under the sink and get a drawer for carmy’s vintage denim. they leave notes on the fridge, much like they do on the whiteboard at work. there’s photos and take-out menus and also vague post-it notes from syd like ‘quail eggs!!!!!! not real’ or ‘break into 45th and Syracuse – man in farmer hat (durian connect??)” and lame weird inspirational quotes from carmy “There’s no one thing that’s true. It’s all true❤️” and sydney’s like what and just thinks they’re funny and doesn’t really make sense but loves him a lot

when carmy can’t sleep he makes sure the blankets are warm around syd and hangs out by the open window for a smoke. he doesn’t smoke as much as he did before and he’s working on cutting it down. sometimes syd wakes up and comes out the bedroom to find him and says “carmy” and sleepily perches on his lap, arm around his shoulder and curls her head into the crook of his neck. her fingers hold onto his gold chain and he stubs out his cig and plays with her hair instead.

[silverovaskitchen]

MADE: 17 JUL 2022

A reblog from my main blog, cause I'm still pretty damn proud of what I did there. Actual recipe and pictures under the cut, if you have no time for the opening blurb.

Салат « Янус » (The Janus Salad)

(Or: a Russian Englishman’s twist on the Romanov-era Olivier Salad)

007 Fest 2022, Scavenger Hunt item no. 52: “Design a meal or dish of food representing a Bond character. Explain your logic.”

In the days when Janus used to travel all around Russia in his personal armoured train, the question of food always was a critical one. Of course, the on-board kitchen was well-stocked with quality tins, but one did not simply live on a diet of tinned food—especially when one was the immensely rich Janus.

Therefore, some of the Janus Syndicate’s enforcers were specially assigned to catering. They ordered dishes to the greatest chefs in all of Saint Petersburg and brought them back to base (not unlike a private Uber Eats…); they did the grocery shopping at the historical Gostiniy Dvor department store; they even procured rare and/or exotic ingredients from abroad. None of them complained—as long as they weren’t caught red-handed nabbing some of this exceptional food, the job certainly had its advantages.

Janus, as for him, didn’t complain either. As much as he despised his old friend James in those days, he had very much adopted the latter’s love for good, expensive cuisine for himself. While the local restaurateurs never saw him in person, he paid them so generously they came to look forward to the tough-looking henchman’s next visit. There were worse arrangements, especially in 1990s Russia.

What Janus also loved was history—above all else, Romanov history. In another life, he would have certainly been the dashing Count Vronskiy in Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. Or, at the very least, a young, ambitious Don Cossack officer, relentlessly gaining power in the tsar’s court through intrigue and connections. But alas, he was born a century too late for that to ever happen. His consolation was to devour all the books he could find on the subject… and infiltrating the young Russian Federation’s politics to steer them away from Communism as much as he could.

It was while reading one of his history books that one day, Janus stumbled upon the story of Belgian chef Lucien Olivier and of his most famous creation—Olivier salad. Like every Russian, Janus knew the Soviet, cheapened-down variation of it, also known as Russian potato salad. He was very surprised to find out that the original was, in fact, very posh. Depending on the versions, it could include such ingredients as hazel grouse, crayfish tails, or even black caviar.

Intrigued, Janus kept searching about this historical salad. Chef Olivier had clung jealously to his recipe all the way to the grave, but fortunately some of his contemporaries had noted down their best approximations. The oldest possible source Janus could find was an 1894 article from the long-defunct magazine ‘Our Food’. For what he had in mind, it was a very good base.

So, one day, he summoned one of his caterers and asked for the recipe to be recreated, albeit with a few alterations of his own. The original recipe was forever lost after all, so no need for complete authenticity. Instead of hazel grouse, he wanted partridge—a very acceptable replacement, according to the 1894 article. If he did live the Cossack life, he’d probably have hunted it himself… but the truth was, partridge had been his favourite game meat ever since James made him try some.

Instead of crayfish, he wanted the sweeter, softer scampi. How English of him, one might say. Instead of meat jelly, he wanted the most buttery, decadent beluga caviar—hopefully not from Valentin Zukovsky's Azerbaijani farm, though. He wanted quail eggs, too. And for a slightly dark, smoked edge, he wanted French duck magret. Again, James’ influence on him might be stronger than he’d ever admit…

Lastly, there was the question of the most mysterious ingredient of them all—what the article called ‘Kabul’ sauce. Back in the day, it was a condiment made by the British firm Crosse & Blackwell, but it unsurprisingly had been discontinued eons prior. The replacement, Janus decided, would be a mixture of good old Worcestershire sauce and soy sauce. Russia had borders with China, Korea and Japan after all. Slightly spicy, with a umami kick to it… that resembled enough the descriptions he read.

The henchman finished noting this down, nodded, and went. Shortly before dinner time, he came back to the train with the customary bliny with sour cream and caviar… as well as this.

‘Delicious’, Janus thought at the first bite. ‘Well worthy of a tsar… I could call it the Janus salad.’

INGREDIENTS

(DISCLAIMER: the author broke the piggy bank for some of these ingredients because she made this dish for her 26th birthday. Do not feel obliged to do the same—that being said, scouring places such as Petrossian or La Grande Épicerie de Paris (a French equivalent to Harrod’s) was very fun.)

Salad (makes 3-4 servings):

2 roasted partridges (can be replaced with roasted chicken)

8 (+1, see decoration) quail eggs (can be replaced with chicken eggs)

5-6 waxy new potatoes (if you’re Janus, you’ll probably want Jersey Royals. If you’re a French frog like the author, Noirmoutiers are an excellent replacement.)

70g smoked duck magret (omit if you don’t have access to it)

Half an English cucumber

1 tbsp capers

10 black olives

Meat from the scampi claws

Scampi broth (if raw scampi are used):

Parsley

Tarragon

Dill

2 bay leaves

1 onion, quartered

1 carrot, chopped

Jamaican pepper (Bond would approve)

Coarse salt

Provençal sauce:

1 egg yolk

1 tsp Dijon mustard

2 tsp vinegar

olive oil (or olive oil + a neutral tasting oil—olive oil has a strong taste)

black pepper

garlic powder

2 tsp Worcestershire sauce

2-3 tsp soy sauce

For the decoration of 1 serving:

2 scampi (aka. langoustines)

1 lettuce leaf

The spare quail egg, halved

Chives

Black caviar (if you’ve got Janus’ unlimited funds, beluga is a must—since the author hasn’t, she used osetra instead. A good, much cheaper replacement with a similar taste would be trout roe... except it isn't as dark as Alec's soul 😆)

DIRECTIONS

Roast the partridge (or chicken) and let it cool down

Boil the potatoes and let them cool down

Boil the quail eggs for 3 minutes and let them cool down (8 minutes for chicken eggs)

Make the scampi broth. When it boils, add the raw scampi and cook for 8 minutes starting  from when the broth boils again. Remove the pot from the stove and put it in a cold water bath. Leave the pot to cool down, so that the scampi are infused with the broth.

Remove the bones from the partridge/chicken, then chop it up into small pieces along with the potatoes, cucumber, magret, eggs and meat from the scampi claws. Add capers and sliced olives

Make the Provençal sauce. Mix the egg yolk and mustard then slowly add oil while whisking, until texture is firm (an electric hand mixer helps). Add the other ingredients and mix well.

Add two generous tablespoons of Provençal sauce to the salad, then gently mix it all up.

To serve, ideally use a ring mold. Decorate the molded salad with the scampi, egg, lettuce leaf, caviar and chives.

Serve very cold. The 1894 recipe says that it should be ideally done in ‘a crystal vase, like fruit macédoine’.

Приятного аппетита! (Bon appétit!)

SOURCES:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Olivier_salad (good overview)

https://liveuser.livejournal.com/77282.html (the 1894 recipe, in Russian)

https://stale.ru/en/different/olive-s-rakovymi-sheikami-gotovim-originalnye-salaty-olive-s/ (different variations of the original recipe with more complete instructions, Google (?) translated from Russian)

BONUS PICTURES:

Mmm roasted partridge

A good view on that caviar (I certainly am not going to get more any time soon, so gotta show off 😁). Also, six bliny of course.

Little birthday dessert in the same spirit:

Georgian black tea with lemon

Chocolate, lemon, raspberry and mango macarons

‘Cigarettes russes’ (Russian cigarettes), which are Belgian rolled biscuits

Raisin and lemon Scottish shortbread

Apple and honey ‘tulskiy pryanik’, a sort of gingerbread from Tula, Russia

PS: did you spot the three Sean Bean non-Alec Easter eggs in the opening blurb? 👀

[omg-snakes]

Hi! I have a question about feeding my 3yr old corn snake. Hes 340g and ive been trying feeding him every 14 days. But I cant seem to find mice that are big enough and he acts hungry all the time lately. Are rats ok once in a while or should I just give him more than one mouse all the time? Thanks!

Hey, friend!

Rats are okay and strongly encouraged. Corn snakes often do act hungry when they don't actually need more food, and they can beg themselves into obesity so be mindful of that. If his body condition is good or if he's a little lean, then he might be actually hungry.

A snake that size and age should be eating about 35-ish grams of food every 10-ish days, which is a large (but not jumbo) adult mouse or a large pup/small weaned rat. You can also offer two mice that add up to 35 grams, an extra-small chicken chick, or a small quail. Once or twice a year you can also offer ONE quail egg (they're very rich; just one is enough.)

Variety is the spice of life, so switch it up as often as you are comfortable doing!

Really, corn snakes probably shouldn't be eating only one species of prey their entire lives. We do this in captivity for our own convenience but, like, it's definitely not natural. We don't do this with any other animal we keep. Dogs and cats have different flavors of canned food and multiple types of meat and veggies/grains in their prepared dry foods. Insectivorous lizards (should) get different types of bugs on rotation. Even fish get more species variety in their food than snakes!

I should mention that corn snakes in captivity have become a little bit like "chicken nugget kids" where they are so used to eating one type of food that they might be hesitant to try new things at first, especially when it comes to rats. I suspect rats are less yummy-smelling than mice to the snake palate. You may need to poke a little hole with a pin in the head of a thawed rat to expose some brain. Brains are mostly fat and fat = flavor, so that's usually enough to convince a neophobic snake that what's been placed in front of them is, in fact, delicious food and not a weird warm fuzzy rock or a dangerous but strangely unmoving predator.

I hope that makes sourcing food a little easier going forward, and that your buddy is happy and well-nourished!